


Consequences

by ineptshieldmaid



Series: Men of Honour [2]
Category: Chronicles of Narnia - C.S. Lewis, Voyage of the Dawn Treader - C.S Lewis
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-07-23
Updated: 2008-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-10 07:21:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,663
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/97132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineptshieldmaid/pseuds/ineptshieldmaid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once in his several lives, King Edmund is not thinking of consequences</p><p>The second fic in my Men of Honour series</p>
            </blockquote>





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> I have chosen not to use archive warnings for my Narnia fic, because the ages and maturity levels of characters in Narnia don't map neatly onto our concepts of "underage" and "of age".
> 
> You can find an explanation of my policy re: age of consent in fiction [here](http://ineptshieldmaid.dreamwidth.org/189551.html). This series explores issues of age and maturity in relation to sex and other relationships. I do not believe that the sexual relationship in this series exploits age related power disparities.

King Edmund the Just never learned to flirt. The risks, he felt, were always too great. And so while High King Peter danced and courted his way through royal life, it was Edmund the Just who smoothed over alliances, ensured favours were granted where necessary, and at times engineered to keep Peter away from certain dignitaries' daughters altogether. Susan understood the stakes better- but then, it was her life and body on the line, as well as their kingdom. Yet Susan curtseyed and danced and listened and sang and flirted and argued with lords and nobles as they came to Cair Paravel, and did it all with the utmost of ease and, barring the unfortunate Rabadash incident, never once mis-stepped. Edmund wondered how she knew which men to leave alone entirely, just as he wondered, when he dealt with the fathers and brothers of Peter's latest conquests, how the High King managed to inerrantly choose those women whose families' honour demanded only certain royal favours, rather than, say, blood-feud.

Edmund felt sure that any woman he took a fancy to would turn out to be of the latter kind of family. And even if she weren't, well, a favour wrongly placed could wreck entire alliances. But somehow Peter never worried about that sort of thing, and so, for Peter, it was never a problem. It wasn't that women found Edmund unattractive; there were always a few whose eyes were not caught by Peter's sparkling beauty, and drifted instead to his quieter, more thoughtful brother. On the whole, Edmund did not know how to approach these women, and, as he had already decided, the risks were too great. A few of them, however, could play chess, and relatives or courtiers on one side or other would produce a chessboard and Edmund would find himself seated across from the daughter of the brother of the Governor of the Lone Isles, or some such, with the black pieces laid out before him. They would play fiercely, the pieces darting back and forth, and Edmund would watch the lady's eyes and hands, and feel a certain deep satisfaction as the game unfolded, each of their designs opening out on the board and wrapping around each other, the power going to and fro until one of them was caught, pinned, and there was a quietly triumphant _'checkmate'_ uttered. Edmund would watch his opponent, and feel a certain deep satisfaction, because here was a woman who understood _consequences_, and made not one but many plans for every eventuality.

The first time a young man- a cousin of the King of Archenland- took a fancy to King Edmund the Just, he was taken aback. There was no mistaking the look in the young man's eyes, or the way he engineered to often come across King Edmund alone, or the way he lost not one but many practice duels in sliding his blade along the King's, until they were hilt to hilt and body to body, and Edmund, being taller and stronger, could easily knock the other's sword to the ground. There was no mistaking all of this, but Edmund suspected he was the last person in Narnia to notice it, because it was simply not an eventuality he had planned for. When he did notice, he was taken aback. When Edmund noticed how the young man's hair fell over his eyes and just begged to be gently brushed away, when he noticed all the delicate angles of the young knight's body, his fine cheekbones and lanky legs, when he noticed how the wiry, rather than muscular, frame pressed against him in the practice courts, when he noticed how all the power of a fine swordsman was contained, coiled, in the smaller man's body, Edmund noticed it all with a great rush of relief. Here was something uncomplicated, something offered that he could take, without thought for marriages and alliances and inheritances and family honour.

But when the young man came to King Edmund's study late in the night, bearing a bottle of fine Archenland wine, Edmund suddenly thought of favours among men, of divided loyalties, of national interests and the delicate power balance of the court. He challenged the Archenlander to a game of chess, and trounced him from one side of the board to the other. King Edmund was the finest chessplayer in Narnia, and the flaw in the younger knight's game was that he never thought through as many eventualities as the King did.

~

Edmund Pevensie never learnt to flirt at school, either. The logistics, he felt, were too complex. That did not, of course, deter Peter, who managed to make the most of inter-school dances, encounters in the village, and any other occasion that might bring girls his way. Edmund felt the risks here might even outweigh those in Narnia: he was not a King anymore, what reason did he have to think that any of the girls he passed might want to talk to him? And if they did, then what? What did one talk to girls about, here, anyway?

Some of them played chess. Edmund was on the school chess side, and if Peter had returned to England with fifteen years of experience in flirting intact, then Edmund returned with fifteen years of experience at chess. His masters were a little startled at his sudden improvement, but he told them that the Professor he had stayed with had spent the summer coaching him, and if this answer did not quite explain his consummate skill, no one asked any further questions. Edmund's school team played friendly games against the nearest girls' school, and Edmund found he had to go easy on his opponents there. Young English schoolgirls thought no more than a few moves ahead. Edmund threw himself into his studies, into debating and fencing and rugby, but he found he missed Narnia with a queer, hollow ache that would not go away. He relished the study of ancient battles and kings, of trade and diplomacy and deals long dead, but as war rocked Europe, as leaders met in staterooms and negotiated the shape of the world that was to come out of the carnage, Edmund Pevensie missed King Edmund the Just almost as much as he missed Narnia.

~

Their second visit to Narnia had been full of consequences, full of plans and mistakes and the fates of men and beasts. Apparently this had not stopped Susan flirting, and Edmund had watched in amazement as she danced and coquetted with the young King Caspian, even to the evening before their departure from Narnia. Peter, at least, had been absorbed with plans and politics, and apparently found no time for flirting amid the chaos that was Caspian's Narnia. Edmund was perhaps uncharitably glad of this.

Edmund walked through the door, and back into his old life. While the others stood around in shock, Edmund was gathering together the pieces of Edmund Pevensie, thinking about the future and possibilities and consequences. About how to be he whom he was in this world. Taking stock. 'Bother,' he said. 'I've left my new torch in Narnia.'

It was harder, this time. This time he had an almost-promise that he would be returning to Narnia, and the trouble of calculating for an eventuality which couldn't be predicted at all gave Edmund a headache. On the other hand, not calculating for it, while knowing it was there, made him feel unsteady, almost seasick.

~

Here, on the Dawn Treader, Edmund does not know what to make of himself. He is in Narnia, but miles away from Narnia and sailing further away with every fresh breeze. He has no dispatches to read, no alliances to broker, none of Peter's rash impulses to temper. Perhaps that's what makes him rash now, or perhaps it's that they're sailing into the unknown, and Edmund has nothing to anticipate or plan for beyond the Lone Isles. Perhaps it's that he doesn't know when Aslan will appear and call him home, so that he is always anticipating the moment of his departure. Perhaps it is all of these things that makes feel as if what he does _now_ in Narnia might never have a consequence.

And so it is that as he and Caspian make their way below deck, and the other King is wearing the golden lion of Narnia and has his left hand resting unconsciously on the pommel of his sword, and his right pushing salty hair back from his face, Edmund is not thinking of consequences. He is thinking of Narnia, and everything he wants and everything he wants to be. As the ship rolls he stumbles into Caspian, pushing the older boy up against the bulkhead, and suddenly Edmund has one hand on Caspian's left hip, just above his swordbelt, and the other beside Caspian's head, and Caspian's lips are salty and Caspian smells of salt and sweat and Edmund is not thinking of anything at all. For a moment, Caspian might have been arching into Edmund's kiss (and perhaps he was), but then he is pushing Edmund back, holding Edmund's wrists firmly for a moment until he is sure that Edmund understands the situation.

'King Edmund,' Caspian says softly, 'this conduct does not befit a King of Narnia. This is neither the time, nor-' he cocks his head toward the bunk where Eustace is, thankfully, asleep- 'the place for such things.'

There is sympathy in his eyes, but Edmund does not want it. Caspian begins undressing for the night, methodically removing first his swordbelt, hanging it by the head of his hammock, then his tunic, which he folds and places in a chest. No doubt he does the same with his boots and breeches, but Edmund is gone, back up on deck, where he will spent the better part of the night staring broodily at the dark water.

Tomorrow, Edmund will seek out Reepicheep, chessboard under his arm, and trounce the little mouse mercilessly.

 


End file.
